Being Done

Right before I go to sleep at night, I check on Vivi. It's a habit that began when she moved out of our room at eight months old. I usually find her perilously hanging off part of her bed so I straighten her up while she sleeps, give her a kiss, and then head off to bed myself.

Last night, however, she was lying in bed awake and staring at the ceiling. When I poked my head in, she said, "Mama, why did I have to sleep in that thing like Baby Max?" Now, Max is my friend Karen's newborn son who was born in the same hospital as Vivi. When we visited Karen and Max, I showed Vivi the nursery and the room I stayed in following her birth. She was mesmerized but I didn't recall Max being anywhere but in someone's arms.

"Do you mean the isolette?" I asked.

"That place where Baby Max sleeps. Did I sleep there?"

"Yes, you did. The isolette is a special bed for new babies."

"Mama, why did I have to come out of your tum tum?"

"Well Vi, you were ready to be born. You couldn't stay in there forever. There wouldn't be enough room."

"Mama, I want to see another baby being born like I did with Ellie-olie."
I laughed and said, "Well one day when you are big like Mama, you can have your own baby. Mama is done having babies."

Not surprisingly, Vivi asked why. I told her that it is a lot of work taking care of babies and that I love her and Jude and Eliya too much to have another.

I love the moments with Vivi when we sit and talk before bed instead of arguing about stories, teeth-brushing, or whatever else. She is sweet and curious and I am reminded of how deeply I love her.

Last night, I was also struck by how absolutely certain I am that I don't want any more children. Despite the joy I have from interactions like the one I had with Vivi, I know that three children will be it. My husband and I don't feel that we have any more to give than what we are already giving to our girls. To demonstrate the finality of it all, we have been passing along every possible baby item that is no longer of use to us. It is without one ounce of hesitation that we remove these things from our home.

Then, a few days ago and seemingly out of nowhere, my husband said in a somewhat wistful tone, "It sure would be nice to have at least one boy."

I'll chalk that up to a sleepless delusion.